Always There
by Gurrbill
Summary: Dean knew he'd never get over it when he woke up one day and felt guilty for being alive. Destiel. Purgatory!Fic. Rated M.


Castiel was always there.

Even when he was gone, he would always come back. Always.

Only in Purgatory did Dean begin to truly understand how much he relied on Cas' presence.

When he and Benny had found the angel, Dean had nearly fallen over from the shock of seeing that dirtied trenchcoat again. Relief broke over his shoulders in such strength that he felt warmth pricking at his eyes, a lump constricting his throat.

He had gone to Cas, of course. Hugged him tight. Tighter than he'd ever hope to admit, clutching that ridiculous trenchcoat like a lifeline. But it felt cold - empty. The angel in his arms felt like dead weight, useless and tired.

Dean should've known then.

The weeks passed in a blur of fighting and blood and dirt after that. Human, vampire and angel fought together like brothers, forming the strangest unison Dean had ever seen. The days were ruthless - the nights even worse. Both monster and darkness would swarm them mercilessly; many new scars soon decorated Dean's skin, most still red, some infected.

But there was an odd night - rare, of course - when everything would be still. Benny would start a fire, Dean would find logs to sit on and Cas would help. They would huddle around the flames, clinging that fragile flicker of hope like a baby clings to its mother. Needy; hungrily.

Funnily enough, Benny would usually be the first to fall asleep. His light snores would fill the air, peaceful face cast in to stark relief by the orange flames. It was strangely reassuring to hear his slow breath. It reminded Dean that they were still alive. Their hearts were still beating. They were still fighting.

It was on these tranquil nights when Dean would look at the angel sat metres away - _really _look - and notice.

The way Cas hunched over himself - any ounce of celestial pride gone; the way his eyes (usually so bright and wonderfully blue with energy) seemed dark and dead as they stared in to the fire. It was like Dean didn't even know who this empty husk was anymore; he was a stranger. A hollow shell of what he once was.

But Dean knew he could make the pain go away.

On one of these calm nights, Dean shuffled across the ground to sit next to the angel, thighs touching, shoulders bumping. The angel looked up, surprised. Maybe a little confused at the human. As if he were curious as to why Dean would want to be near him. Want to stay in his company.

Dean hadn't said a word at all. He'd just stared - ground, hands, Cas - jaw clenching. He could see his own pain mirrored perfectly back at him, and that was when he understood. When it finally hit him.

Self-loathing.

He could read on Cas' person as easy as reading a book. It swam in his eyes, resided in his tense shoulders and hid beneath strand after strand of dark hair. It was all over him, like a bad smell he couldn't get rid of.

And he didn't deserve any of it.

Cas hadn't reacted when Dean had taken his face in his hands and pressed his lips against the angel's. Hadn't reacted as the hunter held him. Hadn't reacted when Dean's fingers had tightened in the folds of his coat.

Then Dean had told him that he mattered. And that's when Cas broke.

His hands fisted in the lapels of Dean's tattered jacket and he'd cried in to the human's chest. Sobbed until his voice was a strangled croak and his throat felt like sandpaper. Let the tears fall until there was nothing left but choked apologies and jarred whimpers. And that had only made Dean hold him tighter, burying his face in the angel's hair and telling him that everything would be alright. That he was forgiven. For everything he'd ever done. For everything he'd ever do. Dean would always forgive him. He would always be there to forgive.

Cas had fallen asleep that way, curled up against Dean, their warmth fighting the biting cold of the ground below. It was the first night that Dean didn't have a nightmare that shook him awake. So they stayed like it, night after night. Often, Dean would hum as Cas laid against him. Anything by Zep, usually, and Cas would smile. A small, sad smile - but it was still genuine, and that was all that mattered to Dean.

More weeks passed, and Benny would come to notice the glances between angel and human. Notice those gazes that took far too long to break, the lingering touches and the unusual protectiveness they had for one another - the fondness they held. One night he even awoke to see them holding on to each other in their sleep, Cas' head resting on Dean's chest, rising and falling in time with Dean's every breath. Benny didn't judge - he let it happen. It was nice to see them get some peace, even if it was on borrowed time.

As the exit to Purgatory drew closer, Dean's otherwise sullen mood became lighter. His smiles seemed more genuine, the crinkles around his eyes deeper than they were before. It affected the rest of them too. Benny laughed a lot more easily and even Cas cracked a smile once or twice in broad daylight.

Dean could still notice it though. The shadows hanging low over his angel. Not one of those smiles ever reached his eyes. None of them were real. He was never happy, as much as he tried to fake it for Dean's sake.

When Dean couldn't take it anymore, he'd confronted the angel one night as they sat below the stoop of a rocky quarry, the stones aglow as the burn of the fire splashed against them. Benny was asleep amongst the trees some distance away, back turned to the two of them as he snored loudly.

Dean had asked why. Why Cas was so unhappy - what could possibly be wrong? They were free in less than a week, two tops - they could finally be at peace. Together. They'd see Bobby and Sam again. They could go back to their lives at long last. Wasn't that what he wanted?

When Cas didn't answer, Dean had gotten mad. He was human, he couldn't help it. The damn angel was being secretive, acting like Dean didn't - _wouldn't _- care about he had to say; what he felt. The hunter had stood, fury fuelling his steps as he stormed away from the fire. He took a swing at the wall of stone on his way, pent up aggression snapping like a tightly wound string, escaping the well in his stomach that it had been held in for nearly a year.

He was angry. But he still didn't really know why.

Perhaps because deep down, he'd already guessed. Guessed what Cas was going to do when they finally reached tantalising escape from Purgatory. He was just ignoring it.

Eventually, Cas had moved from where he sat. A gentle touch on Dean's shoulder, a quiet "Please, don't," quelling his anger. He'd turned to face the angel, asking the same question again, albeit softly. He still cared. He always would.

The angel still hadn't said a word - he'd merely looked up at Dean with a pained expression, his hands shaking as he bit his lip, contemplating. An internal struggle.

Then he'd kissed him. Crashed his lips into Dean's with such need that the hunter had almost fallen. His back hit the cliff face, it's uneven surface digging into his back. He didn't care. Cas' hands were pushing up underneath his shirt, his lips hungry as they sought Dean's, the warmth of him comforting against his body. Dean had flipped their positions, cupping Cas' face as his thigh came to rest between the angel's, breathing out Cas' name into the kiss.

Dean had given everything that night. He'd pulled off the other's clothes, the space between them virtually nonexistent. The trails that Cas' hands left over him seemed to burn, setting his every nerve on fire, the taste of him against Dean's mouth painfully familiar.

This was where he wanted to be. This was who he wanted to be with.

Cas fingers were suddenly pulling at his jeans, undoing the catch and cupping him through his boxers and Dean didn't know up from down. He pressed himself closer, scraping his teeth along the line of Cas' jaw, feeling the angel's every shallow breath against his ear.

"Dean..." Cas breathed, hands running over the hunter's chest to clutch at his shoulders. His voice was low, resonating through Dean's bones, "Dean I... I love you."

That had made Dean hesitate, his lips pausing where they rested on Cas' skin. Cas had felt the momentary stop as well, his body arching up, trying to persuade the hunter to carry on.

_It's okay. We're okay. Just say it back. _

And Dean had; he'd whispered it against the angel's ear, rough and unbelievably true. He loved him. He still did. Love was such a stupid word - such a stupid thing. It couldn't ever manage to describe what Dean felt about the angel. He made him feel wanted, warm and incredibly _whole_. Something booze, women nor hunting could ever make him feel.

The night had passed too quickly from that point. Hands, teeth and tongue - all of it, hot and heavy and exhilarating. And finally, when Cas' voice was wrecked from pleading, his hands scrabbling against the quarry for purchase as Dean rocked his hips in to him, Dean had realised something else. Something frightening.

He _needed _Cas_. _

Needed the reassurance he gave - the seemingly never-ending love he provided. He needed Cas, whole and untarnished. He accepted his every flaw and tried his damnedest to improve them. Just as the angel did for him.

And this sudden want that Cas had for him - the sudden yearning... it was almost like a goodbye. Like the angel was trying to give Dean something to remember him by.

Dean couldn't bear that thought. He didn't want to let go. He promised himself he never would.

Seconds after, Cas' eyes had screwed shut, crying out Dean's name to the empty skies as his hips stuttered once more, Dean tipping over the edge with him. His hands had ran down the expanse of Cas' back, trying to remember the feel of his fingers gliding over the angel's quivering skin, trying to remember what it was like to have Cas beneath him, pliant and adoring. Because deep in his subconscious, he knew this was a goodbye. And he'd tried his hardest to make it mean something.

The following day was when it happened.

The gate had opened, and the crucial time had come when Dean gripped the angel's hand tight, trying in vain to pull him through. Cas couldn't let go, couldn't leave Dean all alone like he'd done before -

_"Go."_

The word had struck him to his very core.

Numbness prickled his fingers, the world shrinking to a tiny pinprick, every second dragging - like they were being trudged through syrup and trampled over. Cas had stared up at him from underneath that dirty mop of black hair, fingers loosening in Dean's hand.

_I'm sorry_, his eyes screamed, _I'm so sorry. For everything. _

Black had shrouded Dean afterwards, the sight of those dulled blue eyes imprinted on his retinas - an image that would reappear in his nightmares. His throat had constricted, hoarse voice yelling the angel's name, desperate. No no no, this wasn't happening, it couldn't -

The real world had hit him hard as he came back, his ears and eyes being slammed with noise and dark blue skies. He felt the urge to vomit and scream at the same time, his thoughts turning into a whirlwind of denial. Cas hadn't let go - Dean had. It was Dean's fault. It was always Dean's fault. Cas couldn't have let go.

Cas loved him, didn't he?

It was far easier to take the blame than to admit it. To admit that Cas had willingly abandoned him. His angel had left him, alone and broken to fend for himself. Again.

Dean wanted to believe - to take the blame - so much so that his memories became twisted along the way, crippled imitations of what they had been. Somewhere along the line, Cas hadn't left him. Somewhere along the line, Dean had been the one to let go. Dean had been the one to fail. Because it was easier that way. To shoulder the responsibility rather than to tell himself that another person he loved had left him again.

The lies he spun around himself to keep from hurting... They grew so big he didn't know whether or not they were lies anymore. The forgotten thoughts of what had happened weighed down on him everyday in his subconscious, spilling over into his dreams and turning them into nightmares. Crushing him. Drowning him in his own misery. Alcohol became his best friend, but it never actually helped. It just made everything blurry for a while, a blank space filled with white noise that left him feeling hollow and ill.

For weeks, he'd sit on a chair, staring out a window, reflecting. Memories of Cas kissing him, cradling him with his arms as they slept hurt more than they did heal. And he didn't try to stop it. Because it felt _right_. The pain. Like it belonged. What was Dean Winchester without a burden on his shoulders?

Just a man. A helpless, useless man.

The worst of it - out of all the morose feeling in his chest - was the self-punishment. Hours he'd spend, hidden away in his own head, yelling at himself. Hating himself. Why hadn't he acted? Why hadn't he stopped it? Why hadn't he dragged Cas in with him, kicking and screaming?

_Why had Cas given him up?_

Regret and self-pity. They swirled in his stomach, being the first thing he felt when he woke and the last thing he felt before he gave in to the peace of sleep. There was a constant, undeniable fact haunted him hour after hour, minute after aching minute that turned him into a reclusive, saddled man. The alcohol never helped because it never made him forget the knowledge that he'd always known. Always known what Cas had been going to do.

But he hadn't done one damn thing to stop it.


End file.
